


All Hallows' Dinner

by TobiasOfArkham



Series: Invasion AU [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, Barebacking, Batjokes, Canon Typical Violence, Come Eating, D/s, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Emotional Manipulation, Enemy Lovers, Flirting, Hostage Situations, Humor, Impact Play, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moral Ambiguity, Rimming, S&M, Sadomasochism, Shameless Smut, Submission, bottom!Batman, dom!joker, precum and spit, sub!batman, top!Joker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiasOfArkham/pseuds/TobiasOfArkham
Summary: "What you seem to be forgetting here, darling, is that there is nothing you can do to me that will change this. You can torture me until the cows come home and take me to the brink of death and beyond, but I will always love you. Eternally. And you will always love me."





	1. Bird Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! The third story in the Invasion AU series! This story may not work as a standalone (unless you're only in it for the kinkfest), so I suggest reading earlier works in the series to give it more depth :) Chapters 1-2 are more or less sfw.
> 
> Special thanks to [horroriz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorriz/pseuds/horrorriz) and taichipanda for brainstorming. This would have been nowhere near as good without your help! <3

They’re even talking about it on the news now. _Batman Berserk: Gotham Let down_ , a headline reads. A talk show host is analyzing the Dark Knight’s state of mind and random citizens are being interviewed on the streets for their hot takes; “ _If we can’t trust the Batman to keep us safe then who can we trust?_ ” a frail old lady is saying. Video footage of hysterical, screaming people running out of a movie theater and of Scarecrow’s blood spattering over the Batsuit can be seen on every channel. Black fists meet the red face over and over again.

It seems there’s nowhere for Bruce to escape this. The general public has now been shown just how fallible their hero is. They have been let in on the reality that he won’t always be able to save them. It occurs to him now that he was never really prepared for this. He had sworn never to fail, to always do whatever it takes to protect the people of his city. He’d always had plenty of plan B’s in case of disaster, all manner of failsafes and measures to protect his identity and Batman’s work. But wiping the batcomputer could never wipe away what happened last night.

Richard Grayson switches off the TV and sits down on the sofa, next to him.

“Bruce... You don’t want to be watching that.”  
“Guess not,” Bruce says. He is leaning over the table, his head held in his hands, but his face is blank, betraying none of the turmoil inside him.  
“You screwed up, but it’s only because you’re -”  
“I'm fine.”

Dick pauses to look at the man hunched on the sofa in front of him and furrows his brow in concern. His adoptive father’s usually hulking, fit figure looks so small in this moment.  
“Don’t give me that. I don’t buy it. Nobody does at this point. You need to talk to someone. The rest of us did.”  
“That’s not a good idea,” Bruce insists, "Not as long as I'm Batman. It would be of no use. It’s not like I can talk... about anything real.”  
“Then go as Batman! But you need to see a therapist.”

Bruce looks incredulously up at the young man who is sitting next to him with his arms crossed, looking rather like Alfred did when Bruce was still a child and needed a firm hand. The little boy from the circus is a man now. Bruce attempts to push away the intrusive thoughts and images of his other child, unmoving, with his lily-white face and blue lips. He is reminded of what he himself told Joker on that ship - that the latter had not been prepared for failure due to being human. Now, it seems, it’s Bruce’s turn to experience how Jack might have felt back then, all those years ago. Joker’s bitterness towards his own perceived weakness is suddenly quite understandable. Bruce is feeling rather resentful himself, for letting all of this affect him so much as to jeopardize his work. For feeling so helpless.

“Batman... in therapy?” Bruce shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous.”  
“Well, I can’t exactly drag you there, in or out of the batsuit,” Dick says, “but please, just... consider it, OK? Consider doing something, _anything_. Take a long vacation if you need one. Go get yourself a tan and let me look after Gotham in the meantime. You have to admit you’re not yourself. Constantly on edge, easily distracted - ”  
“I'm aware.” says Bruce stiffly, again grinding his teeth together - an annoying habit he seems to have developed recently.  
“Well, this just won’t do,” Dick says resolutely, “I've never seen you so brutal. Crane is still critical. If he dies -”  
“He won’t.”  
“Shut up, Bruce! If he dies _you’ll be responsible_. You beat him within an inch of his life. And all those people who got a dose of his new formula because you were late? They won’t come back from that any time soon.”  
Bruce feels the familiar rage brimming within, rushing in his head, and before he can stop himself he has snatched a teacup from the tabletop and thrown it on the floor where it shatters. “That’s all on Joker!” he snaps, “He set up the false trail to distract me! He wanted me away from the theater.”

Secretly, he does feel responsible anyway. If not for him, Joker might be still in Arkham and this wouldn't have happened. Batman encouraged Joker to escape, after all.

“And you fell for it!” Dick exclaims, “That’s not like you. Please...”  
Dick’s voice is softer on that last word. He picks up the shards of the broken teacup onto the saucer and gently places it back onto the table. Bruce gives him a quick glance.  
“I’ll think about it” he allows, although still scowling.  
“Good.” says Dick, “You've turned the public opinion around before. You can do it again, but only if you take care of yourself. You won’t be young forever, you know...”  
Bruce gives him a defiant look. “I'm not old,” he says, a little defensively, with an almost childishly endearing look to him, like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else.  
“Well you’re no spring chicken either... Just saying. It’s about time you started thinking about what’s good for you for a change. Apart from, you know, getting to dish out justice - which is starting to look too much like vengeance as of late. It’s taking a toll on you.”

Bruce opens his mouth to argue but this exchange is suddenly interrupted by a phone’s ringtone. Bruce reaches to pick up his other phone - the prepaid one only Gordon knows the number to. He picks it up and taps to answer, but says nothing.

“Is this Batman?” asks Montoya’s voice after a few seconds. Of course it would be; Jim is in no condition to work.  
“This is him.” Bruce answers, easily adopting Batman’s gruff voice.  
“We have a bit of a situation here. An anonymous call. Said he has hostages at the abandoned ACE Chemicals plant. Says he’ll kill them if he doesn't get 100 million dollars, cash.”  
Bruce raises his eyebrows, then clears his throat, attempting to sound neutral. “I didn't expect to hear from the GCPD,” he says slowly, the knot in his stomach tightening.  
“Well, this one is strange," Montoya’s voice is saying, ”insists it has to be Bruce Wayne’s money - not that anyone else even has that kinda money anyway... But here’s the thing - it has to be delivered by Batman, alone. No one else will do. No cops. 24 hours. Otherwise the the hostages will be killed.”  
“Can you send me the audio?” Batman asks.  
“There’s no point. The caller sounded terrified. We’re pretty sure the call was made by one of the hostages. And there’s no time anyway.”  
“Alright. I’ll go to Wayne. I’ll.. I’ll handle it.”  
“Hey, Bats?” - her voice is warmer now - “For what it’s worth... I still believe in you. Many of us do. Take care.”  
The call ends.

“What did they want?” Dick asks. Bruce doesn't hear him. He's staring into distance, thinking. He has a terrible feeling about this.  
“Earth calling Batman!” Dick waves a hand in front of his face.  
“Uh, yeah... right... hostages.” Bruce mutters.  
“And they want your help?” asks Dick cautiously.  
Bruce narrows his eyes, then gives him a sideways glare.  
“The criminal wants me specifically.”  
“Oh?”  
Bruce can see what Dick is thinking. He tries to ignore it and gets up. He starts walking towards the grandfather clock.  
“I'm coming with you.” Dick says and follows him.  
“No. They wanted me to go alone. They said no cops -”  
“I'm not a cop, am I?”  
Bruce stops and turns to face him. His bright blue eyes fix on him in a hard, warning look.  
“That doesn't matter. I thought you were worried about placing people in danger?” he says harshly.  
“I’ll hide, then. But I'm not letting you go alone. I’m helping you out and you can’t stop me. It’s not like you’re my boss or anything.”  
Bruce gives a sigh as he proceeds to open the entrance to the Batcave and walk swiftly down the stairs, Dick following close behind.  
“Whatever you say, Nightwing.”

***

  
At 11 PM, several hours later, a black van comes to a halt in front of the entrance to the closed down chemical plant. The doors open and Batman and Nightwing step out into the cold night air, in full costume. Orange leaves rustle softly in a lone, nearby tree at the riverbank but nothing else is happening out here. They appear to be alone. Batman knows they are not.  
“You left the keys in the ignition?” Batman asks Nightwing, who insisted on driving them there.  
“Yeah, of course.”  
Batman eyes the eerie-looking, dilapidated chemical plant for a moment.  
“You get in from the roof. I don’t think they've seen us yet. There’s a maintenance entrance there. It may still be locked but that’s not going to stop you. I'm taking the front door,” he finally says, "Do not interfere unless I ask for backup.”  
Dick seems to be taking a moment to consider this.  
“Please,” Batman adds tightly through his teeth, with a pleading look at his son, who gives him a nod and is climbing the access ladder to the side of the building in no time.

The rusted hinges of the door give a loud creak as it’s opened. The lock seems to have been busted some time ago. Batman steps into the stale, dusty air and looks around him. It’s uncomfortable to be here again after all this time, especially in light of the new information he has about his last visit. He considers turning on night vision in his cowl but as his eyes adjust to the darkness he decides against it. The light pollution of the city leaking in from the large, dirty windows of the hall is enough for him to get by and if this is who he thinks it is, the night vision could be used against him.

The signs of the fire that took place in here many years ago are still very much evident and the place would otherwise look as though nobody’s been there in years if not for the graffiti on the walls and a couple of filthy mattresses and empty bottles and trash in the corner. Batman assumes it has been used as shelter by the homeless, or as a place for junkies to shoot in peace.

He spots graffiti on the floor that, unlike the rest, looks fresh. It’s a neon green arrow pointing the way, with a smiley face next to it. He suppresses a groan at his suspicions having been confirmed. He follows the direction given, slowly, cautiously. As he gets deeper inside the large hall, now walking between the large chemical vats, he spots words written on the floor with that same spray paint, along with a little heart. He positions himself so that he can read the words - “ _Welcome, Batsy!_ ” -  and starts walking in the direction he’s facing. Finally, he hears fast, heavy footsteps approaching him from the darkness. He hopes Dick hasn't made his way inside yet.

He braces himself for an attack he is almost certain isn't coming. As expected, Joker appears from the shadows, running at him with arms wide open and a happy smile on his face, looking about as non-threatening as it’s possible for a homicidal clown to do. He jumps at the morose-looking Batman, nearly knocking him over, and wraps his arms around him.

“BATSY, DARLING!” he squeals excitedly. “I've missed you so much!”  
Batman considers saying it’s only been two weeks, but remembers that Dick could be listening in - he knows nothing about the Arkham visit and Batman intends to keep it that way.

Joker suddenly kisses him on the cheek and that finally makes something snap. The rage bubbles back to the surface, along with embarrassment and worry over what Dick might be thinking about this display. Batman violently pushes Joker away and Joker only has a moment to look confused and a little offended before a kevlar-plated fist lands on his face. Joker yelps in pain and surprise as blood spurts out of his nose. His hand is about to instinctively reach his damaged face when Batman grabs him by his collar and lifts him off the ground. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” he shouts at him and raises his fist, ready to strike again.  
“Whoa, slow down, sweetie!” Joker holds his hands up defensively, ”Nice to see you too...” he grumbles, then spits out blood, “You almost broke my -”  
“WHAT WAS THAT WITH CRANE?!” Batman snarls, pulling his fist back further and baring his teeth. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”  
“I couldn't resist! I was just too curious to see if you’d take the bait. It’s what I do! One can’t change their nature, can they?” he shrugs innocently, his amusement still very obvious, “I honestly didn't expect you would... but life is full of happy surprises!” he finishes with a little chuckle.  
Batman gives an infuriated growl and lets go of his collar. The fall makes Joker tip over and land on his ass with a thud. He gives Batman a dirty look and pushes himself back on his feet. He wipes dust off his clothes and blood from his face, then squeezes down hard on his nose, trying to staunch the bleeding.  
“Where are the hostages?” Batman demands.  
Joker huffs in disappointment. “Wisen up, Batsy. There _are_ no hostages.”  
“You’re lying,” Batman accuses.  
“Nope! I just wanted to see your pretty face!” Joker says, smiling sweetly. “Oh, and I want to buy Brucie something nice but I'm kinda low on money at the moment... I mean, I was, until now.”  
Batman stares incredulously.  
“You made me haul his money here just so you can buy him some stupid gifts?”  
Joker gives him a puzzled, amused look, tilting his head to the side.  
“Do you often talk about yourself in the third person?”  
Batman ignores the comment.  
“Why did it have to be in cash?” he asks, trying his best to hide his exasperation, ”Another pallet and we’d have needed a truck.”  
Joker shrugs. “It was more funny that way, you gotta admit.” Then he starts giggling. Batman gives up trying to understand his reasoning and sighs, at a loss for words.

Joker suddenly leans close to him and grabs his chin in his bloody hand, clearly intending to kiss him again. Batman fails to hide his discomfort, his body tensing and eyes shifting from left to right. He takes a step back. Joker’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Batman can see the cogs turning in his brain before his face falls. “We’re not alone, are we?” Joker mutters sourly, obviously disappointed.  
“I came alone like you asked. No cops.” Batman tries, but Joker doesn't buy it.  
“You can come out now!” Joker shouts angrily at the seemingly empty room, dramatically throwing his hands up in the air. Batman decides it’s better to let go of this pretense, as it would only infuriate him further if he kept up the lie.  
“Do as he says,” Batman says in a defeated tone and sure enough, Nightwing drops down from wherever he was hiding near the ceiling, making a flip in the air on his way down, just because he can. He lands a few feet behind Batman and walks to his side.  
“Well, hi there, Bird Boy!” Joker waves at him cheerfully, though there is a dangerous tightness to his expression, murderous intention right behind his smile.  
“I tried to talk him out of it.” Batman explains.  
Joker clicks his tongue. “You really need to keep better discipline with the kiddies, daddy-o.”  
“It’s a bit late for that.” Batman says and receives a look from Nightwing. Joker cackles.  
“Did you see anyone else in the building?” he continues, meeting Nightwing’s eyes.  
“No. Not inside this building at least. Joker may be telling the truth.”  
“I _am_ , bird brain” Joker scoffs. At that moment his phone starts ringing and he answers. After a couple of seconds a mischievous smile spreads on his face. “Excellent!” he merely says, and hangs up.

”Right, the van is now on its way to my hideout! Thank you very much for your business, mister Wayne.”  
Batman grits his teeth.  
“Oh, and before you go, here’s the main reason I wanted to see you.”  
Joker puts his hand into his suit jacket. Nightwing tenses visibly beside Batman, but the latter has a strong feeling Joker isn't about to attempt to stab or shoot either of them tonight. Joker takes note of Nightwing’s discomfort and seems to be quite enjoying it.  
“Aw, show some trust, birdie!” he says in a mock hurt tone, just before his face splits into a wide grin laced with malice.  
Batman’s gut feeling is right - Joker merely pulls out a folded piece of paper. He offers it to Batman, who looks down at it, then back at Joker’s face.  
“What is that?”  
“It’s for your eyes only.” Joker says with a wink. Batman is grateful for the cowl hiding what he feels may be a blush spreading onto his cheeks. He takes the note and slips it into his utility belt.  
“Well, it’s been fun. But now I must dash. Toodle-oo!” Joker says happily and waves at them, wiggling his fingers. Then he skips away, leaving Batman standing there with Nightwing, who is staring at him with a puzzled expression on his face. This goes on for what feels like a long time.

“What the hell?” Nightwing finally manages.  
“I don’t know. Ask Joker.”  
Batman turns to walk back to the entrance, fists clenched. Nightwing follows him.  
“Aren’t we going after him?”  
“No. He can’t go back to Arkham. It’s not safe there.”  
“ _Safe?_ Wh- What’s on the note?”  
“I’ll read it when I get home.”  
“What if it’s important? That’s something he would do. Have it be something we need to know right now, just so you will feel guilty when you’re too late for whatever it was.”  
“It’s not.” Batman insists. For all he knows it could be a nude picture of Joker and he’s not prepared to see that in his son’s presence.  
“How would you know that?”  
“I know him. It’s for me. It’s not going to be of any use and I’m not reading it now.”  
Nightwing takes a few long, fast strides to get ahead of him and blocks his way.  
“He knows who you are!” he says, looking serious, “Doesn’t this bother you at all?”  
Batman shrugs.  
“He’s probably known for years. He’s not going to tell anyone. It would only -”

At that moment a blood-curdling scream cuts through his words and echoes around the hall. It’s coming from the back, where Joker was headed. They run towards the sound until they arrive at the back door. Batman wrenches it open and a young man, about Dick’s age, dressed in dirty worn-out clothes and sporting several piercings and a blue mohawk falls through it, twitching and gurgling, seconds from death. His throat has been slit. Dark blood is pumping out of the open artery and through his mouth and nose onto his blood soaked clothes, quickly forming a puddle on the floor.  He grabs hold of Batman’s cape and desperately tugs at it. But his grip is weak. Wide, terrified eyes stare up at them until the light dies within them and he stops moving. Nightwing stares at him in horror and disbelief while Batman kneels down to pick up a pink note that has been pinned to his chest, over his heart. There are just two sentences written on it in hasty handwriting:

_  
I lied. This one’s for bringing Bird Boy._

 


	2. Pistachio

Bruce slams his bedroom door shut behind him, a lot harder than necessary, and falls face first into his king-size bed. He just lies there for a while, his eyes closed, breathing deep against the freshly changed bed sheets, the day’s events playing in his head over and over again. He has skipped patrol tonight much to the relief of Dick, who he knew would practically beg him to do so had he not suggested it himself. Not that he even could go out there tonight, not with the last drop of energy having been drained by the aftermath of the insane hostage situation. Explaining another failure to the GCPD was a nightmare and he’s almost grateful for the Clown Prince of Crime’s reputation for irrational behaviour in this instance, as he was able to explain away the death of the hostage by pure insanity. Now he thinks of it, this explanation probably isn't that far from the truth. The press at least was kept in the dark. A small mercy.

For now at least he’s not willing to entertain the possibility of following Dick’s suggestion to seek professional help. The mere thought of it brings out the instinct to flee. Now, fleeing... That he could consider. Getting that tan could be something for him to consider if things got any more crazy than they already have. He’s not sure whether it was he or the Joker who got him into this mess in the first place, but here he is, neck deep in it, and there is no way to undo it. What he wants to think of as just the desperate acts of a man condemned have led him into something he has no clue how to handle. Losing Robin and Oracle and having to finally come face to face with his relationship with Joker has forced him to question what he is doing, who he is and what he wants out of life. That is terrifying for someone of 39 years of age with such strong convictions and a solid routine.

He had always known of Joker’s obsession. His attraction to Bruce had become obvious to everyone a long time ago. One would have to be blind not to see it. But he had never suspected that this man would even be capable of any deeper feelings towards another person. All he had ever displayed was manipulation, hostility, fulfilling base desires. The way he looked at Bruce, however, with utmost adoration and warmth, and how gentle he could be to him when he wanted to... It still doesn't quite compute. For years, Bruce’s own attraction towards Joker was a shameful secret he’d managed to keep under lock and key, denied so efficiently that it hardly ever had any effect on him during their many encounters over the years. It was something he had never imagined he’d act on, save for in a handful of sexually charged dreams he’d had after some particularly brutal fights with Joker, from which he’d woken up in a state of simultaneous arousal and disgust with himself. He had indeed wondered about what kind of man he had once been, and what it would have been like to meet him in a different life. But as he is, as the Joker... Why Bruce should have feelings for such a horrible man is beyond him, and yet... he does. Try as he might to tell himself otherwise, he wants to keep this man safe, he wants to spend time with him; to enjoy, to feed, to protect what is still good about him. He wants to be near him.

He gets up to sit at the edge of his bed and pulls out the crumpled note from the pocket of the sweatpants he’d changed into after getting out of the batsuit and showering. He stares at it with trepidation for a full minute before mustering the strength to actually unfold it and read.

 

_“My sweets, my darling, the light of my life! How I have longed to yet again see your beautiful pointy ears and your beefy butt. I hope the hostage made it. If not, well... think of it as a learning experience :) I would love nothing more than to spend another wonderful night with my lovely winged creature of the night. I hereby cordially invite you to enjoy dinner with your one true love. Meet me at the address below on October 31st at 7 PM. Dress code: in black, if you catch my drift._

_With love,_

_J_

_XOXO”_

 

Bruce can't help the little tug in the corners of his mouth at the description of his behind. Neither can he suppress the anger at the mention of that sole hostage he'd watched die at his feet. His initial reaction at the time was anger at Dick for not staying behind. This is very disturbing - his son couldn't possibly have known a hostage would be in danger because of jealousy of all things. It was a royal pain in the ass to dodge his questions about how Joker became aware of his presence in the first place. Now, however, Bruce’s anger is directed at Joker, as it should. He made the decision to kill that man like has has done for hundreds before him. Joker is the one behaving like a possessive boyfriend... It’s painful to think just how close to that he actually is. The only other person he’s ever shared so much of himself with is Selina. That didn't work out just like this doesn't have any chance of working out either. Romantic relationships have never ended well for him. They just generally seem to be out of bounds for Batman.

Part of him wants to just throw away the note and deal with the consequences. Another part of him is already planning what to wear for dinner. It’s telling him that if he goes, they may be able to talk this through somehow, come to some kind of agreement about the nature of their relationship. It’s also drifting into a daydream about what Joker might be wearing for their date...

He is well and truly screwed.

***

  
“If I may say so, Sir, you’re putting quite the unusual amount of effort into this meeting,” Alfred says, eyeing Bruce as the billionaire descends down the stairs and reaches the entrance hall of Wayne Manor.  
“I don’t recall you taking Halloween so seriously since you went trick-or-treating.”

He isn't wrong. Bruce has definitely never paid this much attention to his appearance in the past - at least not beyond how terrifying he can appear to criminals in his batsuit. And he’s not particularly in the mood to discuss what makes tonight different. He characterized it as a business meeting, but he’s pretty sure Alfred wasn't fooled.

He is meticulously groomed and stylish as one would expect for a first date, but in a strikingly specific way; His black hair is newly cut and combed sleek. His black suit is pressed and tailored to fit perfectly on top of his black-on-black embroidered waistcoat and a burgundy silken dress shirt. His freshly polished Italian shoes and even his socks are black, as well as the coal-coloured, engraved titanium cufflinks. He’s carrying a black suitcase, as if he were on his way to that imaginary business meeting. A blood-red pocket square punctures this black canvas like a bleeding wound, the only spot of colour apart from his eyes which look more startlingly blue than ever. This unusual and stubborn interpretation of the invitation is risky, but he feels he needs to retain at least some agency.

Bruce doesn't reply to Alfred. He remains silent while they leave the manor and enter his car. He hasn't told Alfred where he is going or why, only that the meeting is extremely important. Alfred doesn't press the matter despite being very clearly curious about the street address he is handed.  
“Are you sure this is the right address, Sir?”  
“Yes, Alfred. Just drive.”

Their destination turns out to be quite a long drive away, on the outskirts of the city. They pass through suburban housing with its picket fences, then past several industrial complexes, including the abandoned ACE Chemicals plant and the old amusement park that once served as Joker’s hideout before it was raided by the GCPD. Bruce tries hard not to think about what had happened in that park just minutes before he found himself in Joker’s arms, standing in the rain and laughing together. After all the time he spent trying to ignore it, he now instead tries to focus on what he felt in that moment.

He found himself returning the sudden embrace, gingerly wrapping his arms around the other man, soon clinging to the poor, sick human being he hoped was still hiding somewhere inside that monster, for him to find. It felt strangely familiar, like it was something he was supposed to be doing -

_Just like every time I make him bleed._

There was comfort in the steady warmth and sudden, gentle stillness of the usually cold and hot and ever-moving force of nature that was the Joker. They laughed together until it hurt to do so, until they could hear the sirens and see the lights approaching, and when they parted and looked into each other’s eyes... That was the first time he saw it - something strange and new on that face, a look altogether too sad and sincere to belong on it. And it was the strongest he’d ever felt it - that terrifying urge to pull him right back into his arms and kiss him. It freaked the hell out of him and he buried it deep beneath the rest of his guilt and shame, back where it belonged, never to be acknowledged - not until he would see that look again in the most unlikely of places.

“Are you still certain this is the right address?” Alfred says, pulling Bruce out of his reverie.  
Bruce looks out of the window. In front of him, there is a bent street sign and a rusty, broken down metal fence surrounding a small and utterly unremarkable makeshift shack.

“Yes. I'm certain.”

He opens his suitcase, stares into it for a minute or so, then closes it. He decides on the stupidest idea he’s ever had: going in as Bruce Wayne. It could cost him his life, or someone else’s. If he’s being honest with himself, part of him wishes it will cost his. Things can never go back to the way they used to be and he’s not sure he’s prepared to live with that. But if one thing remains unchanged it’s that he knows Joker, and he knows that Joker also knows him...

Alfred has been patiently awaiting him to do something, but after a long silence he clears his throat.

“Oh, sorry, Alfred...” Bruce replies, “I’ll call you if I need you to pick me up. That will likely not be until tomorrow.”  
Alfred looks at him in surprise. “Tomorrow, sir? What an unusual business meeting, I must say.”  
“Drop it. See you tomorrow.”

Bruce takes his suitcase and exits the car. He waits for it to be out of range of his vision and hearing before he steps off the asphalt and onto the gravel. It gives a crunching sound under his feet. That and the cutting, cold wind are the only sounds he can hear. He walks past the broken-down metal gate on the ground and towards the odd little shack. The metal door is ajar. As he approaches it he notices that the door handle is painted purple. Rather than touching it, he moves his foot towards the crack between the door and the wall, but abruptly changes his mind. He sets down his suitcase on the ground and looks around. A pile of discarded junk to the side of the shack catches his eye. After a moment of looking through it he chooses a two-by-four to take back to the door.

A deafening bang makes Bruce’s ears ring. He is crouched next to the wall beside the now open door. His eyes are on the two-by-four now laying on the gravel beside it. After taking a moment to reorient himself and curse himself for not bringing earplugs, he picks it up again and looks up at the door. A cluster of holes now decorates the middle of it. Going by the size and number of the holes and the ragged edge it was most likely made by buckshot pellets. He looks around him; everything is still quiet and nobody can be found investigating the noise. Bruce slowly gets up, still holding the two-by-four, now as a weapon, and steps through the door. As suspected, there is a shotgun rigged to fire at anyone entering. Another look at the door reveals that it was indeed live; wires connect the handle to a series of batteries.

Bruce rolls his eyes at the setup and looks around the room. There is nothing else in there except for a dusty old, round carpet with “HA” written on it in the same green spray paint he saw at the chemical plant. After going back out to fetch his suitcase, he pulls the rug across the floor to reveal a trapdoor.

What he descends into can only be described as surreal. The room looks like a miniature lobby of a questionable, cheap motel, with fake plants, kitsch paintings, a couple of chairs and an elevator. A little stuffed teddy bear is sitting on the chair by the counter on which there is a note reading _“Welcome, Darling <3”_. The elevator, complete with muzak, takes him down surprisingly deep into the ground. The elevator doors open into to a large hall filled with what looks like everything a travelling circus could possibly ever need, minus the people and the animals. The room is dimly lit by mostly green and purple neon signs reading nonsense and obscenities. It’s like a morbid amusement park, a piranha tank in the corner and some knives, hatchets and machetes sticking out of mannequins dressed in everything from fetish gear to Sunday best, with smiles painted on with what looks like dried blood. An elaborate Joker-themed throne with a huge “WELCOME, DARLING!” banner above it dominates the center of the space. There is an expensive looking, plush mahogany casket near it, filled to the brim with assorted candy, and on one of the walls Bruce spots a dartboard with his own cowled face on it. There are no darts sticking out of it at the moment - only the unmistakable mark left by lips covered in ruby lipstick...

He notices a light shining through the furthest of the doors leading out of the hall. He walks to it, almost tripping on a badly taxidermied badger on his way, and grabs hold of the handle. He hears a bell ring and only barely misses the cake that had been teetering on top of this door. After taking a moment to sigh loudly - while resisting a smile - he follows a short corridor into a smaller room that more resembles a living room, with a comfortable-looking recliner and a very large floating wall TV. Before he has time to take in the rest of the room, the vision that greets him at an arched doorway to his left fixes him to the spot and steals his breath. He drops his suitcase.

Joker’s tall and thin frame is leisurely leaning against the archway in a gold sequin tailcoat. Underneath, a black corset hugs his otherwise naked torso. He is wearing black slacks as neat as Bruce’s but much more form-fitting, and similarly black stilettos. His hair is sleek and combed back. A full face of makeup is painstakingly and surprisingly tastefully done, with lipstick much darker a shade of red than usual and barely noticeable purple glitter mixed in with his smoky eyeshadow. He is holding a tub of ice cream. For a while, Bruce can do nothing but stare and take a deep breath. Meanwhile, Joker walks to him, whistling at Bruce as he looks him up and down.

“Hello, there, gorgeous.” He says in a smooth, deep voice. “Welcome. Love the outfit. Bold.”

He arrives at where Bruce is standing, still stunned and lost for words. Joker smiles and, in one comfortable, elegant move, wraps his free arm around Bruce’s neck to place a kiss on his lips.

“I thought we’d, uh, skip the whole dinner thing and take a more... breakfast in bed kind of approach,” he says.  
Then, he takes a step back to scoop up a spoonful of the ice cream and bring it to Bruce’s lips.  
“Ice cream?” he asks cheerfully.  
Bruce’s stomach makes a noise and he frowns, tight-lipped, very much cranky about the fact that he skipped dinner for this and is now starving, as well as getting aroused.  
“What is it?” He asks, more stiffly than intended.  
“Pistachio” Joker says slowly, as if savouring the word, regarding him from under long, dark lashes. Then he suddenly yanks the spoon away from him and into his own mouth, making a little “mm” sound, then scoops up another spoonful for Bruce, with a playful smirk on his face.  
“See? It’s not poisoned or anything.”  
Bruce considers pointing out that Joker is immune to his own poisons, but can’t get himself to care enough. He takes the offered spoonful.  
“That is good,” he admits. On a whim, Bruce grabs hold of both the tub and the spoon in Joker’s hands. Joker raises an eyebrow but lets go of them all the same. Bruce sticks the spoon in the tub and sets it down on the nearest available surface, then turns his attention back to the man who is making him breathe more and more heavily by the second.


	3. The Buckle End

Joker’s back is against the wall before he can react. Bruce’s fingers tighten around his neck, his body pressed against his.  
“Don’t ever do that again.” he says quietly, but in that deep, dangerous voice he normally only uses with his cowl, a voice that means business and is clearly different than his usual voice even without the altering software installed in the cowl.  
“Do what?” Joker asks with as much exaggerated innocence in his voice as he can manage while being strangled. His hands come up to Bruce’s back.  
“Any of that. No hostage games. No deception. No death traps. You can do the cake. I didn't mind the cake... or the badger.”  
Joker tries to giggle but fails due to Bruce’s grip tightening even more. “I... can’t... ss...” he tries, and Bruce loosens his grip slightly and continues -  
“But if something doesn't change... if you don’t give your word that things will change, this will be the last time I do this. And I will do it the way I please - do with you as I please - until you scream for mercy, and then I will leave you here bleeding, alone. And I won’t be coming back.”  
Joker’s pupils dilate and he is breathing faster.  
“Oh, honeycakes! You've got this all backwards - back to front - inside out! See, I can be a good boy. Well, I can _try_...”  
He smiles and flicks the tip of his tongue across his lips while he slides his thigh up Bruce’s leg until his own is wrapped around his waist and rubbing against his rear.  
“Although... I am loving the rewards I'm getting for being a _bad one_.”  
The deep, rough tone of his voice and the darkened eyes under heavy lids, as he says those words make Bruce’s cock twitch. Joker slides his hand down his back and around to his front, to slip it between them, to caress Bruce's chest, then the hand holding his throat.  
“I can easily go easier on you. I can even kill fewer people... I think. I can do this in return for a little favour from you. However, what you seem to be forgetting here, darling, is that there is nothing you can do to me that will change this. You can torture me until the cows come home and take me to the brink of death and beyond, but _I will always love you_. Eternally. And you will always love me... and want me... You won’t be able to resist.”

“Don’t be so sure, Joker. This won’t happen, not on your terms anymore. Not if you don’t accept mine.”

“If you deny me,” Joker says sweetly, “I will blow up every school and hospital in Gotham City and slice up the children who manage to escape.”

The fury smacks Bruce over the back of his head and floods his brain, narrows his field of vision. He feels like ending Joker right here and now, for real this time. He tightens his grip again.  
“And if you do,” Bruce hisses, feeling and sounding more like Batman again, “I will finally look the other way while other people do to you what you’d expect after that. Are you willing to risk that?”

For the tiniest fraction of a second Bruce thinks he may have seen worry flashing on Joker’s face as he thinks this through. But then his expression goes right back to hungry.  
“Oh, Batsy, aren't you just a teensy little bit curious to hear what that favour is?” Joker teases. He presses his hips tighter against Bruce and rubs against him. The blinding rage of a moment ago softened Bruce somewhat, but feeling how rock hard Joker is under his slacks makes him twitch again.

“Fine. What is it?” Bruce finds himself asking. This is perfectly rational, he tells himself. It makes sense to see all of his options before moving forward.

Joker bites his lip and grinds against him even harder. “Mmm... Sure, I can be a good little clown out there, or rather,” he chuckles, “ _relatively_ good... on the condition that, while in here... or wherever we happen to be when it’s time to screw each other senseless -” He makes a sudden, jerky movement to get his face slightly closer. He bores right into Bruce’s skull with a stare of such bright intensity that his heart skips a beat. The words to follow come in three sharp whispers, through gritted teeth:

“You. Are. _Mine_.”

Bruce grits his teeth as well, now breathing heavily through his nose. He’s suddenly nowhere near coherent enough to ask what exactly that means, but he thinks he has a pretty good idea. He’s not sure how he should feel about it. Right now, his thoughts, his world, narrows down to the heat between their bodies.

“Yes, my sweet. I call the shots during our fun times and you shall get your good behaviour out there. Pinky swear!”  
Bruce narrows his eyes. “You mean to say I will allow your shot-calling, providing you behave?”  
Joker gives him his widest grin yet.  
“If that makes you feel better about it, sweetheart. So... is it a deal?” His fingernails press into Bruce’s wrist.  
Bruce lets go of his throat but leaves his hands resting on his shoulders. A thumb absently makes small circles around the end of a collarbone, at the base of Joker’s bruised neck. Bruce looks down at the bare, white chest and has to moisten his dry lips at the thought of kissing it, the thought of catching a pale nipple in his mouth and sucking on it...  
“It’s a deal,” he hears himself say.  
He’s just about to kiss Joker when the beautiful, ugly man suddenly turns his head to his right and squints at something on the floor. Then he looks back at Bruce.  
“What’s in the suitcase?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow.  
A slight smile appears on Bruce’s lips.  
“You’ll see.”  
“Well, then. Get your hands off me and I’ll show you to the bedroom.”  
Nothing about the way he says this suggests a request. Just like before, he is ordering Bruce around, except this time there is something new to his delivery; something that part of Bruce wildly rebels against, while at the same time his heart rate shoots up and yet more blood pumps into his groin.

Bruce takes a step back and joker walks past him. Like last time, he gets a slap on his ass, except this time it’s much harder. Maybe it just feels that way without the armor on, or maybe he really did slap him harder this time. Bruce picks up his suitcase and follows him, admiring how well he walks in heels. Bruce fights the urge to grab him by the waist and pull him to himself. They enter the bedroom, which is lit in red and much simpler in its decor than the rest of his one big sensory overload of a residence. He has a king-size canopy bed with Batman-themed bed sheets. Bruce actually laughs out loud upon seeing them.  
“Cute, aren't they?” Joker says and turns around to face him, standing at the foot of his bed. “Helps me deal without you by my side... Open the suitcase.”  
Bruce opens it and takes out his cape and cowl. Joker watches hungrily as he snaps on the cowl and removes his three-piece suit. The clown’s gaze devours every curve of muscle, from his pectorals to his abdominals, as the shirt is unbuttoned... to his thick, hard thighs and erection revealed when the rest of his expensive clothes hit the floor... He is now wearing nothing but his black cowl with its long, pointed ears, and his cape draped over his broad shoulders.

Joker draws in a breath. He is looking at him _like that_ again, Bruce thinks. With that adoration - worship, almost.

“Batman...”

Joker shrugs off his tailcoat. He opens his belt and drops down his slacks to reveal no underwear save for black, thigh-high stockings. He steps out of the pile of clothes and walks to Batman. The heels perfectly offset what height difference they have, so they are level with each other. Joker moves in for a kiss. Just as Batman is about to deepen it and bring his hands up to his hips to pull him closer, Joker breaks the kiss.

“About time,” he says. “Get on your knees.”

As soon as Batman is down on his knees, he gets a smack across his face and sharp nails grab him by the exposed flesh of his jaw. His knee jerk reaction is to want to hit him back, but his intense arousal counters it and he merely huffs and grits his teeth.

“Look at me,” Joker says softly, “Sweet Batsy...” - his tone hardens - “Stay.”

Batman doesn't move a millimeter from his position once Joker has let go of his face. Joker steps closer and rests his erection on Batman’s lower lip. Precum is leaking from it, between his lips.  
“Suck up that juice and don’t swallow.”  
Batman licks off the precum, making more of it bead on the slit. He keeps suckling on it for more until Joker tells him to stop. Joker squats down and grabs Batman’s cock to stroke it and collect what leaks out of it on his fingers. Batman bites down on his lip, fighting the reflex to swallow and the urge to moan from his touch. When Joker is satisfied, he stands up again.  
“Open up, Batsy,” he says and grabs his jaw again. Batman parts his lips and watches as Joker lets the clear, viscous fluid drip between them from his fingertips. He pushes two fingers in, then out again, and wipes them on Batman's lips. He presses a feather light kiss on them, his eyes intensely on Batman’s.  
“You still have it all?” he whispers.  
Batman nods. Joker pats on his cheek.  
“Good boy. Get up and come here.”  
Joker walks to the bed, sucking his fingers clean as he goes, and sits down on the edge, gracefully crossing his long legs and motioning for Batman to stand up in front of him. He strokes his toned chest.  
“Now, give that back to me, sweetie.”  
Batman bends over. He presses his parted lips against Joker’s. Everything he’d been given, he lets seep into the dark red, hungry mouth as Joker caresses the nape of his neck and stares up at him with his pupils blown wide. Gradually, the dark eyes flutter shut. Some of the lipstick has smudged, while the rest of the makeup is still flawless. Joker makes a little whine of pleasure, then slowly swirls his gift, pooled on his tongue, before swallowing.

He smiles and slowly crawls into bed, still wearing his heels and corset, lying down on his stomach. Batman wants nothing more than to climb on top of him and take him right there and then. But he awaits further instructions, not wanting to ruin his chances of keeping the peace. Joker is lounging luxuriously, turning onto his side and stretching his limbs, then back onto his stomach, swinging his legs in the air. He is looking content but mischievous, and torturously attractive.  
  
“Tell me what you are, Batsy. You do know what you are?” he says.

Batman takes a moment.

“Yours.”

“That’s right. And you are frustrated, too, aren't you?” he adds with a smirk as he eyes Batman’s clenched fists and his dark erection leaking drops of precum onto the fluffy carpet.

“Hm, well, you’ll be happy about this next part... Pick up my belt.”

Batman bends over to pick up Joker’s belt from his pile of clothes. He stands there, with his heart hammering, his head swimming with desire. He squeezes the black leather with white knuckles...

“Give me some of that. You know you want to. Almost as much as I do...” Joker says, tilting his hips ever so slightly to indicate where he wants him to start. “And use the buckle end!” he adds, raising his voice.

Black leather and steel lands on white skin. Joker lets out a satisfied “ahh!” and squeezes on the sheets. Batman gives him strike after strike, alternating between each white cheek and skinny thigh, adding more force to it each time. The skin slowly turns from white to pink, from tiny red specks to red blossoms of blood in the bleached flesh. Joker squirms and he whimpers, he groans and he curses and he yelps and he shouts to the world just how good it feels. Batman is getting more and more desperate for release and can't help the whisper of “Please...” escaping his lips. Joker is shaking from the pain, and Batman from sheer desperation.

“STOP!”

Batman’s arm freezes mid-strike. Then, he lowers it. He looks at the sweet flesh lying in front of him, flesh no longer white but bright red, flesh he knows will be a deep purple and black soon enough...

“Wh- what... do we say to that?” Joker asks in ragged breaths, caressing his own red skin.

Batman stares for a moment with his mouth open. He is so, so grateful that they can, hopefully, move on.

“... Thank you,” he says quietly.

Joker turns onto his side and moves to make space. “Drop the belt and take the position I was in, on the bed,” he orders, still breathless and trembling, yet forceful.

Batman pauses. Joker can’t expect him to take that same beating, can he? Batman could, of course - he can endure a lot of pain. But he would really rather not. Nor does he care for the other things his mind conjures up when he imagines himself in that position, at Joker’s mercy.

“What do you have in mind?” He dares to ask.

“I told you to lie down, not to ask questions.” Joker says, in a warning tone. When Batman drops the belt but doesn't move, he bares his teeth and snarls, “I said... LIE THE FUCK DOWN!”

Batman assumes the position. He hears Joker shuffle on the bed next to him and move behind him, out of sight.

“Prop up that sweet booty of yours, will you?” he says, and gives it a slap. “Use this.”

Joker throws a pillow at him. Batman slips it underneath his stomach, and gasps when the dripping head of his cock touches it. Soon, he feels joker grabbing hold of his ass and massaging it.

“My, oh my... what a treat I'm in for...” Joker says, a quiver in his voice. “As are you, by the way. Oh, darling, do you have any idea what pleasure awaits?”

“Oh, God...”

“Oh, shut up! You only have one god in here and he doesn't like to be called that.”

Joker caresses the curves of his ass for a while longer, then spreads the cheeks to gain entry. He slowly licks the whole length of his crack, starting from his balls, all the way up. It feels cool and strange, but pleasant. Joker repeats it, making his licks shorter until he zeroes in on the tight entrance and begins to eat it out.

“Mmmh... Oh, yesss... you taste so good.” he mutters into the crack, and takes a long, deep breath through his nose. His breath stutters on its way out. His tongue circles the opening, slowly making it relax. It is starting to feel really good, and for the first time tonight, Batman lets a moan escape him.  
“Yeah... Nice, isn't it? You’re delicious. I'm going to have fun with you.”

Batman can see Joker moving on all fours to his bedside drawer and take out what Batman can only assume is lube. He disappears behind him again, and he can feel it pouring on himself. Joker eases a finger in, gradually sinks it deeper, until he hits his mark. Batman gasps for air. Joker has found his prostate. He is massaging it, drawing more gasps and groans out of him. He never had anyone do this to him before, and never expected it could be this way. It feels divine.

“You like that, don’t you? Hm, what am I saying... Who wouldn't?” Joker says as he adds another finger and causes a groan to escape his Bat. It feels tight for a while, but then, as he relaxes into it, it starts feeling more comfortable. Joker keeps opening him up and rubbing on his sweet spot until he has him moaning loudly into the bed.

“Aren't you adorable when you make those Batty little noises,” Joker taunts and suddenly smacks him hard. Batman yelps from the unexpected pain and tightens around the fingers.

“I think you’re ready to give me what is mine” Joker says and pulls the fingers out.

For a moment there is no sound, no contact. It’s making Batman nervous about what’s to come. And then, he can feel something wet and much bigger pushing into him. What he dreaded is happening - Joker is going to fuck him. He uses all his training to calm his mind, to tell himself to relax, as it will make things easier... Joker keeps pushing, and it hurts, but it also makes him harder, if possible. Joker buries himself inside and starts fucking him much more roughly than is appropriate for someone’s first time. Batman is willing himself to stay put, to take it.

“FUCK, YES!” Joker cries, then laughs his trademark, high pitched cackle as he pounds into him, his fingernails dragging across his back and his ass, and makes Batman cry out from the pain and pleasure. He changes his angle and hits his prostate again. He lies down on top of him and grabs his face to twist his neck so they can look at each other.  
“Who’s your boss?” he asks him.  
“Y- You are...”  
“Mmm...”

Joker licks his Batsy’s lips and stares at him while he fucks himself up his ass. Batman licks him back and they kiss passionately. It all feels so damn good. Too good. A few more thrusts, and he comes so violently, in such blinding, searing pleasure that he screams. Joker pulls out and jerks himself to orgasm, squirting cum over his ass.

They are still coming down from it when Joker leans in to lick up all of the cum. He smacks his lips and throws himself next to Batman, who’s still panting.

Joker regards him for a moment, then laughs a very different kind of laugh, a truly happy, joyous laugh that feels out of place coming from him. He yanks the pillow from under the Bat and waves it in front of his flushed face.  
“Now, look what you did to my pillow! It’s all sticky!”  
But there is no heat, no force, behind the words, and he keeps laughing and smiling the kind of smile that deepens his already prominent crow’s feet. It’s like he was suddenly replaced by an impostor. He throws the pillow across the room and snuggles against Batman, who turns to face him and wraps him into an embrace. They stay that way for who knows how long, wrapped up in his cape. The two men, so fierce, are now so soft and still.

Joker buries his face into Batman’s chest.

“I love you,” he says.

There is a moment of silence. Batman looks down at the head of green hair and kisses it. At this point, he is hard pressed to find a reason not to say it.

“I love you too.”

 


End file.
